When Sherlock Met Walter
by xfphile
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes met Walter O'Brien, one of three things should have happened.


Okay, I have no idea where this came from. I just suddenly had this mental image of Sherlock Holmes and Walter O'Brien having a meeting of the minds, complete with Snark, and it just . . . wrote itself.

Also: knowledge of both shows is rather essential, because of the personalities involved.

* * *

_When Sherlock Met Walter_

When Sherlock Holmes met Walter O'Brien, one of three things should have happened.

1) Civilization as we know it would end: wars, famine, destruction . . . the direct result of the world's most competitive game of Monopoly.

2) The Greatest Criminal Empire ever built would form, and very shortly take over the world (this wouldn't last long, as both geniuses had the emotional quotient of a rock, and would become bored horrifying quickly, thus leaving devastation in their wake)

3) All crime on the planet would curl up and die right that instant in sheer, unadulterated terror (leaving said geniuses bored out of their minds and desperately trying to figure out the best way to get to Mars, because there had to be crime _somewhere_, even if it wasn't on Earth)

John Watson, Greg Lestrade, and the other members of Team Scorpion would die a thousand deaths before confessing that there was a 5-way bet on this very subject (or admit that they were recording said meeting for posterity and also for posting on YouTube in the hopes it would go viral).

And they each acknowledged that they'd clearly been around the insanity long enough to know how to survive and prosper among it. This did not mean that they were anticipating this meeting with anything less than horror, mind, because none of them were lacking in brains. So when Walter elbowed his way past Sherlock without so much as an 'you're obstructing my path to the computer data I need,' seven people sucked in harsh breaths, flinched, and failed to avoid looking for the nearest escape route.

And those same seven people came within 4 seconds of having a collective heart attack from sheer disbelief when Sherlock merely went with the elbow and bowed his disgustingly limber frame around the table _without _jostling the contents or stepping in what John was refusing to acknowledge was a small intestine tied in an elegant Windsor knot (Lestrade had tried the same avoidance, but he simply didn't have the exposure to Sherlock that John did, and so lacked the necessary mental locks).

After it became blindingly obvious that the world wasn't going to end, crime didn't suddenly stop, there wasn't a Monopoly board in sight, and James Moriarty hadn't flipped his last cracked nut at not being the World's Greatest Criminal, John, Lestrade, Cabe, and Toby all stepped forward to frown thoughtfully at the body, Toby watching in fascination as John prodded Sherlock's deductions out of him with more delicate expertise than a midwife delivering her 100th baby. Sylvester gave the table and surrounding area a 5-foot berth on his way to help Walter with the computer data, while Paige and Happy huddled together and tried to pretend that the normal, snipe-free environment wasn't really happening.

And really, after everyone adjusted to the bizarre reality they found themselves in, it would have been fine.

'Would' being the operative word.

"Oh, lovely," came a sarcastic drawl from the door. "It's a Freak Convention."

Paige spun around, a furious retort on her lips that died mid-syllable when Toby, after only a cursory glance, said, "All right, Walter, the back-up dancers are here. Can we get this show on the road now? I'm hungry and Happy wants to see Big Ben."

The pretty black officer at the door froze, gaping at Toby (literally; she'd nearly dislocated her jaw), her eyes the size of saucers. The tall, horse-faced man just behind her was in much the same state, only he'd paused mid-movement while putting on a pair of gloves.

"Leave me out of this," Happy shot back, scowling at Toby on reflex before turning a predatory gaze on the pair in the doorway. "And just how do you know this is a convention?" she asked snippily, crossing her arms. "I used my badge to rig the vending machine, Toby won't wear his, and Sylvester's lanyard is under his shirt."

John snorted in amusement even as he carefully palpated – something – in the open abdomen of the corpse, and Lestrade only avoided the same by coughing. Loudly.

Cabe gave the room at large an unimpressed look – obviously taking note of the two people still frozen at the door – before addressing the detective inspector.

"This is our guy; he's the one Homeland suspects stole the U.S.'s newest nuclear missile plans."

Lestrade nodded but was interrupted by, "No, he's not," in stereo from a richly-accented baritone and a clipped, faintly Irish-sounding low tenor.

Silence fell.

Everyone watched, shoulders tight with sudden tension, as Sherlock and Walter slowly straightened from their respective hunched-over positions and even more slowly pivoted to face the other.

Toby suddenly had an overwhelming urge to shout "Fore!"

"And how," Sherlock began, beating Walter to the punch by a bare second, "can you possibly have ascertained that while blindly poking around a computer that has clearly been booby-trapped?"

An arched eyebrow was the initial response, closely followed by, "How can you? No, never mind," he continued, cutting Sherlock off at the deduction, "what matters is that this man has never left England, so it's obviously impossible for him to have stolen the plans."

Silence fell again. It was harder this time.

"I – what?" Paige asked, confusion lacing her words. "I don't understand."

Toby, still standing behind John, suddenly slapped his forehead and groaned. This was echoed by John, who shook his head and mumbled, "Never hear the end of this, will I?" into his hands before looking up and meeting Lestrade's confused expression.

"Twins," he said succinctly, beating a pair of arrogant geniuses to it – both of whom were visibly annoyed at being upstaged (causing both Cabe and Lestrade to smile, for much the same reason). In a bizarre shift of allegiance, the two of them exchanged a commiserating look that everyone but Sylvester missed, and the room suddenly exploded into a hive of activity.

In the midst of the noise and rapidly-descending chaos, Happy smirked at Donovan and Anderson – who had yet to move from the door – and said, "Hell of a lot more fun than Comic Con, isn't it?"

And with that parting shot, she let Paige tug her to Walter, who was about to commit suicide (or pull out a Monopoly board) by getting into a debate about methodology with Sherlock.

In other words, it was business as usual. John and Lestrade exchanged relieved looks at the return to normalcy while thanking God that Mycroft hadn't seen fit to involve himself, and Team Scorpion thanked God that they had Paige Dineen. Things were starting to settle into patterns and – snarking aside – civility, when a voice from the hall caused a third silence to fall like a hammer.

"What do you mean, Tony Stark will be here within the hour?!"

~~~  
_finis_


End file.
